Trigger warnings: Mentions of eating disorders, substance abuse

Two hours before the show tonight, Andy begins begging for someone to shoot him up. "Don't care what it is," he says, slouched on the couch in the dressing room. "Jus' fuckin' gimme somethin' 'cause I wanna die too bad to deal with this." He sniffles and groans.

Martin, who's pacing, pulls his phone from his pocket. "I've found one dealer nearby," he says, "I've barely known him two minutes but I guess it'll do."

Andy mumbles aggressively to get the drugs, lying on the couch as his manager leaves.

When Martin returns, he has the needle and the new stash, which, though he isn't aware, is much stronger than Andy's previous one. "Arm," he demands, rolling up the sleeve on the man's leather jacket and ignoring the obvious track marks already there. He shoots him up quickly, says he's taking the stash back to the bus, and leaves again.

Andy gets himself ready once the drug's taking effect. The show goes a well as it could go, all considered. When he returns to the bus early in the morning, his bunk is covered in pieces of paper that all say, in Remington's handwriting, 'stop taking it or I stop liking u.' The man picks most of the pieces up, scatters the floor with them, and crawls into bed. He has a text from Abigail simply saying she's here if he needs her.

Remington is woken the next morning by the familiar sounds of Martin making coffee and breakfast. He dresses in his bunk, gets out, and collapses. Andy hears it from his bed. He gets out without standing on the boy, picks him up and checks he hasn't hit his head. "We're going to hospital!" He yells down the vehicle, "say no and I kill you."

"The fuck is wrong this time?" Martin asks.

Andy carries Remington into the living area. "You need an answer? Are you thick?" He lies the boy on the couch. "He's starving himself, in case that isn't fucking obvious, and now he needs to go to hospital so they can tube feed him or he'll fucking die, alright?"

"He'll be fine, just make him eat when he wakes up."

"It doesn't work like that!"

"It does today," Martin says dismissively.

Andy shakes his head in disbelief. "You're seriously not gonna let him go to hospital?"

"Nope."

"Fuck you. You're a fucking horrible person." He purposefully knocks over a glass half full of water. "If he fucking dies, I'm gonna fucking murder you, I fucking swear! Why don't you care? He's already had a fucking heart attack! That should worry you!"

"Well then maybe he should fucking eat more! Not my fault he doesn't like food, is it?"

"Doesn't like-that's not how it fucking works, you fucking straight ass homophobic mother fucking cunt! Go to hell!" He stands between Remington and Martin, as though paranoid the man might try and hurt the delicate boy.

"I'm not homophobic!"

Andy laughs.

"I'm not!"

"No? So you're fine when I say I love Remington, a man, the same way you love your wife, a woman? And it doesn't bother you when I tell you my dick has been in him, that we've made out in public and fucked in a cinema bathroom? You would have no problem being at our wedding where we were pronounced husband and husband, and there was no one in a puffy dress? And it's totally okay for you to know that we've fucked in the same shower you use?"

Martin opens his mouth to say something but Andy cuts in.

"I always swallow," he says, and his manager clears his throat. "That's what I thought. Now let me take my husband to fucking hospital or I'm fucking you up. And not in the gay way." His voice softens as soon as Remington moves, opens his eyes. "You're going to hospital," he says matter-of-factly.

Remington sits up, rubs his eyes. "I don't need hospital," he claims, "so no thanks."

"There, he doesn't need hospital. Suck it up, Andy!"

The man glares at Martin, contemplates throwing the whole damn television at him.

"Yeah, suck it up," Remington says, getting of the couch. "You don't need to treat me like a child. I'm not a child. If you want a kid, maybe you should have adopted Kacey."

Andy's mouth falls open.

"Also I'm vegan now."

"You-"

"Suck it up."

Martin sips his coffee. "Remember, Andy, you always swallow."

"Go to hell," the man mutters, leaving the living area. "Both of you, go to hell."

Andy doesn't let Martin shoot him up later. He does it himself. When he returns from the show, instead of paper this time, Remington has tipped cold water on his bed. Andy covers it with a towel and sleeps on that.

The following day, while Remington is watching Netflix on his laptop, the account logs him out, says the password has been changed. He knows it's Andy getting back at him for last night. "Fuck you!" He shouts.

"Better do something else!" Andy calls back, having changed the password to 'gotohospitalnow'.

"You did what?" Abigail asks, when Remington explains he tipped water on his husband's bed later that night.

The boy laughs. Abigail thinks he sounds a little insane. "He was tryna' make me go to hospital because I collapsed, so-"

"Remington, I think if you collapsed, you should go to hospital."

"I'm fine," he insists, "I'm not fucking hungry."

"When did you last have a proper meal?"

"Dunno but-"

"Okay, listen. I don't know what the hell is going on with this tour, but that doesn't excuse you from eating, Remington. You deserve to eat."

"So I deserve to die?"

"You're not gonna die from eating. You're gonna die from not eating."

Remington huffs. "Well then I'll die," he says, "no big deal. I'd rather die thin than live fat."

Abigail sighs. "You're not fat and you won't be fat if you eat something every day. And even if you were, there would be nothing wrong with that."

"Why does everyone want me to be fat?" He asks loudly.

"Remington, you're not thinking straight at all. You need to eat something. Anything. You're starving and you're collapsing and if you keep it up, you will have another heart attack and you will die. And then what? Andy will have lost you. Your brothers will have lost you. I will have lost you. You will hurt them all. You will bring them so much pain and sadness and that is not what you want, is it?" She pauses. "And remember how painful the heart attack was? Remember how scared you were after? D'you want to feel that again?"

"But..."

"I know you think no one will care, that no one does care, but you're wrong. I care. Andy cares. Emerson and Sebastian, they care. Your fans care. The only one, Remington, who doesn't care, is you. And I get it, I do. You're stuck in a self destructive spiral and the thought of stopping is scary because the disorder is the louder part of your mind and ignoring it is terrifying, but you need to take charge of it, okay? You need to understand how much harm your doing to yourself. It might just feel like a few skipped meals to you, a couple of dizzy spells, but it's not just that, is it? A healthy person doesn't collapse. A healthy person doesn't sabotage their relationships because they're scared of getting too close. Remington, you're not healthy until you realise how bad it is, and right now, I don't think you realise at all."

"I doesn't matter how bad it is, I'm not gonna stop. You can't make me stop!"

"Please listen to me. Not as your therapist of even your friend, but as your mother, Remington. As your mother who is worried and scared for you. As your mother who loves you and who finds it so heart breaking how much you hate yourself. Listen, please. You can't do this to yourself anymore. You can't push everyone away like this just because they don't want you to die. No one wants you to die, Remington, no one."

Remington tries to keep himself from crying.

"You need to talk to Andy. You need to sit down with him and talk, okay, about everything. You need to tell him how much you're struggling, that you need help. You need to."

"He doesn't get it. No one gets it."

"We're all trying. Don't you see that? We are all trying to understand and help you."

"I thought someone did get it but they were lying and faking because everyone just wants to see me fail all the time."

"No, Remington. Marcus is not everyone. Marcus is one man who was payed way too much by one woman. He is not everyone. Not even close."

He sniffles. "And now Emerson is faking it, too."

"What?"

"Sebastian rang Andy and I answered. He said Emerson's not eating and shit, like-like why do they have to all do this?"

"I'm sure Emerson isn't faking it."

"I'm so sick of it!"

"I know. I know you are."

He takes in a breath. "Like-like-I was-I was s'posed to be-I was meant to be better but I-but-fuck, I can't even talk anymore!"

"Hey, let's take a deep breath. In for six, hold for seven, out for eight. It's okay." She counts while he breathes. "We're gonna get through it," she then says, "because we're strong and because we can, okay? Say it with me. We are strong and we can get through it."

"We're strong and can get through it," he mumbles.

"Exactly. Now here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna get out of bed and you're gonna make yourself a bowl of porridge, alright? You're gonna do that for me, okay? Do it for me."

"Do I-do I gotta' eat it?"

Abigail wants to cry. "Let's just focus on making it for now. Can you do that for me?"

"Don't know."

"I'll do it with you. Put your camera on, we can make porridge together."

Remington wipes his eyes. "But it's-but it's midnight."

"That's okay. Midnight snacks are good." She turns her camera on, waits for him to do the same. "Put on a onesie, okay?"

The boy does, zipping it all the way up and pulling the hood over his head. He gets out of the bunk, brings his phone with him.

Abigail tells him to find a pan and a box of oats, which they luckily have on the bus. He protests when she says to pour milk in, insists on being vegan now. "Put the milk in," she says firmly, "it's gonna be okay. Just put the milk in."

He does, and stirs it with a wooden spoon as she talks to him about a new job she's got. When the porridge is ready, she encourages him to drizzle it with honey, which he reluctantly does, before taking the bowl and a spoon to his bunk.

"Let's have a spoonful together," she says soothingly, "just a small one, alright?"

Remington hesitantly dips the spoon in. "'m scared," he whispers.

"That's okay. You're brave."

"Is-is this enough?" He shows her the spoon.

Abigail smiles. "That's perfect. You're gonna be really brave and strong for me, now, okay?"

The boy looks at the food, shaking in his hand.

"Ready? We're gonna have this spoonful together."

"Can't."

"Yes you can. You can do it. I know you can."

"'s-'s too hard."

"Count with me and on three you're gonna be so so brave just like I know you are."

Remington mumbles the numbers as she says them, looking at her with teary eyes when she reaches three. He slowly brings the spoon to his mouth, eating it uncertainly.

Abigail smiles encouragingly. "You're doing so well," she praises, "that's so good, I'm so proud of you. You're being so brave."

The boy wipes his eyes.

"Let's try another, okay?"

He nods, dips the spoon in again, eats in on the count of three. Abigail manages to get him to more-or-less finish the bowl, telling him after to settle down and staying on the line while he goes to sleep, so he doesn't go into the bathroom and make it all come back up. She reads a few poems to him from a poetry book she has, until she's sure he's asleep, and leaves him a text to wake up to.

I hope you had a good sleep. Let's have breakfast together this morning. You're doing so well. I love you. Mum x